


I'm Too Young For This

by NescientAtaraxy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Descriptions of gore, Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:32:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NescientAtaraxy/pseuds/NescientAtaraxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mituna was “that kid’ in school. You know, that kid.. He was that geeky, lanky loner kid.”</p>
<p>Well, that’s how the others would describe me.</p>
<p>-	- 	- 	- 	- </p>
<p>This is a bit of a Kurtuna drabble that may turn into something longer if I'm into it. I really adore the idea of gangleader!Kurloz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flashback

Mituna was “that kid’ in school. You know, that kid. The stoner with the unkempt hair, beanie, skateboard. The kid that would otherwise be regarded as a ‘cool kid’ if not for his personality. He was a little too slow, a little too giggly, a lot too clumsy to be hanging around with the popular kids. For the most part of school he was alone. He didn’t quite understand a lot of things, especially why nobody seemed to like him.

He always ate lunch by himself in a corner, away from others. After school he usually went to go find somewhere to skateboard. He liked to and it was his favorite activity, despite how many times he would fall. He had broken his fair share of bones, torn his fair share of muscles. He was that geeky, lanky loner kid.”

Well, that’s how the others would describe me. It doesn’t hurt as much as it did in elementary school. It doesn’t matter because now my lifestyle has totally changed thanks to the scariest kid in school. Kurloz intimidated me more than anything in the whole world, including scary movies. And those are very scary to me.

Kurloz always stared at me when I walked by. Maybe he noticed me when I averted my gaze, because he was very intimidating. But it was hard not to look at him – not just because his face was always painted, or his piercings got my attention, or sometimes he had sewn thread through his piercing holes, or that his hair was the wildest thing you had ever seen. It was mainly because he was gorgeous.

Once I had vocalized this and people had laughed at me. They still whisper about it sometimes, but I try not to let it bug me. Maybe Kurloz had heard, he probably had and that’s why he stares. But I don’t mind, because he has gorgeous eyes. His skin looks really soft too, and I like soft things. It was a nice dark caramel color, and I like caramel a lot. Especially on ice cream. 

This day after school had been routine as always for me. I go to the skate park and I always have it all to myself because I pick the small one in what people call the bad part of town. The big one is too crowded. I took my board and practiced my usual tricks. I fell a lot like usual, but I messed up really badly on one trick.

The edge of my board hit the edge of the rail because I had misjudged the distance and didn’t land properly. This is a mistake I have never made before, and it sent me crashing down, my ribs hit the guardrail and knock the wind out of me. I heard the familiar snap and crack and figured it was my arm breaking again. But my arms were still in the air, and when I caught myself on them I noticed they were only scraped up and full of tiny gravel chunks.

I tried to move my legs so I could flip over, being face-down and half on a railing, half on the cement. I saw red pouring from my nose and mouth, which was not unusual. I spat out the metallic substance but it splattered on my face when I let my head fall into it. I am not so bright. My left leg would move, but moving my right leg proved to hurt too much. I’m used to pain, but not this pain. I guess I broke my leg, oops. Now how am I going to get home? I guess I can just sit on my skateboard.

But I still had trouble breathing. Maybe I should just lay here for a while, I thought. I laid down; trying to catch my breath but it was coming out in short hiccup-y bursts. It hurt. The last thing I remember that day was being lifted from the ground. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was a familiar mess of black hair. When I woke up, I had no idea where I was. It was a large bedroom, but not my own.

And that’s how I end this flashback and bring you to today, the beginning of the rest of my life.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s sunny outside, the last of the orange glow before night took over. I must have been out a few hours. A pair of long black curtains blocks any excess rays from seeping into this room. The only light sources on at the moment are two lamps, one on either side of the bed. They are small and dim but they are enough to allow me to navigate. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and try to stand, before falling down promptly and shrieking because ow, my right leg hurts. I look down at it on instinct, and notice it is tightly bandaged.

Great, Tuna, now you’re on the floor. Good job. I try to hurl myself back up onto the bed but my arms are too short. Who in their right bloody mind has a bed that’s as high as a fucking mountain? The door’s opening now and oh my god I’m sure I’ve been kidnapped and I’m going to die a painful and slow death. 

The figure in the door is just a silhouette for a good few seconds, because the light in the hall is brighter than that in the room. But when he shuts the door behind him, holy shit it’s Kurloz. Oh my god. Yup, you’re dead. So very very dead. He’s walking towards me and oh shit no this is the end goodbye world.

Oh, no, he’s just leaning down to pick me up and then he sets me back on the edge of the bed. He’s strong, for how skinny he is. It hurts quite a bit, but I only squeak a little. When I was firmly plopped down, I looked up to Kurloz. He hands me a glass of water that he was holding, but he supports it for me, tilting it up to my lips. And I drink, because I’m thirsty and because he’s staring at me and I always drink or eat when I’m nervous. When I finish the glass, he wipes a drop from my chin with his thumb. 

I still have no idea what’s going on. I ask him, “Excuse me, but why am I here?” He only looks at me with an expression I can’t read. I continue to look into his eyes, only now noticing the flecks of gold dispersed into the chocolate brown. His lips aren’t sewn shut, so why isn’t he talking? Then again, I’ve never heard him talk. Huh. I always thought it was part of his whole mysterious thing, but I guess maybe he can’t talk?

His hands are making movements now. I don’t understand, I say. He rolls his eyes, exasperated, and I hope I haven’t pissed him off. He reaches into his nightstand drawer and pulls out a pen and paper. On it, in chicken scratch writing, is written:

You’re hurt.

What? Of course I’m hurt! But what does that have to do with anything? I look back up at him, and before I can speak he takes the paper back.

I’m helping.

Oh. Oh. Oh. Okay. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” He rolls his eyes and shrugs it off and then I’m being lifted again. Lifted very high off of the ground and oh dear lord this is terrifying. I cling to him like a newborn and bury my head in his shoulder. He sets me down on something harder, something cold and I realize it’s a toilet seat in one of the grimmest bathrooms I have ever seen. But oh is it lavish. It’s practically bigger than my living room.

I watch as he rummages through a cabinet, bringing to me a metal box that is filled with various first-aid equipment. I watch as he takes a few things into his large hand and sets them on the counter. He leans down in front of me and starts to undress a bandage on my hand. When it’s off, I notice a large gash running down where my thumb meets my wrist. He stands up, tosses the bandage, and then washes his hands slowly in the large porcelain sink.

He leans back down in front of me, looking up to my face with an expression of pity. He grabs my hand and turns it, palm up, rocking it slowly in the light. He grabs a needle from the counter, a sewing needle, and some thick thread. What the absolute hell there is no way I am letting him touch my hand with that. Before I could open my mouth, it was already going in the first side of the gash. I let out a yelp (okay, more of a squeak), but he didn’t stop. He grabbed my hand tighter to hold it in place.

When the blood started to drip from the wound, he grabbed a tissue and blotted it away. This didn’t hurt nearly as much as the needle. I leaned my head back and reserved to keep still, but my leg was doing that jittery thing it always did in math class. I shut my eyes and tried to think of a happy place.

It was the longest 5 minutes of my life before he was finished. He tied it off and set the needle and thread back on the counter and washed his hands again before re-bandaging it. When he was done, he cradled the back of my head and brought it up so I could meet his gaze. He’s looking at me with an even more pity-fill look. He pulls me towards him and I’m leaning against his chest now. Is he hugging me? No one ever hugged me except the man that raised me, and I was just a young child then. He picks me back up, careful not to bang my leg against the doorframe, and he sets me on a bed again. But this time, it’s a bed in the room attached to the bathroom. It’s a bigger room; it must be his because there are photos and more dressers for clothes than the last room.

I’m staring up at the canopy on the bed, a sheer black and purple fabric draped gently over the gold bars. This guy is fucking ridiculous and I love it so much. I can’t see him anymore; his body disappeared in the bathroom from this angle. I shut my eyes, trying to avoid thinking about the throbbing warmth in my hand. 

Kurloz comes back out of the bathroom and sits beside me. He wipes the hair from my face softly and it kind of tickles. I realize that he hasn't actually seen my eyes. I'm not too fond of people seeing them usually, but I’ll bite for him. That and I just don’t have the strength to resist right now. I might have been able to see his eyes before, but it’s only when my hair is all out of my own face that I can appreciate how unbelievably beautiful they are. Before, I saw blue. But not I can notice flecks of purple and I realize they’re more violet than blue. 

Shit, he’s pretty. And oh my god he’s staring at my eyes now. I can’t read the look on his face, but it’s endearing and comforting. He keeps brushing my bangs gently to the side, and I’m not one to fight this kind of attention. It made me shiver, to be perfectly honesty with you, because I had only ever received such kind and gentle touches when I was younger.

I must have relaxed visibly, because just as quick as the covers were slipped from beneath my limp body were they draped back over me. It was softer than the old blanket I use at home, it almost felt like silk. Black and purple, as was almost everything save for the occasional hints of gold. This guy blew every interior designer straight out of the water. I was confused, was I supposed to sleep here, in this bed? A note was held in front of my face and I squinted to read it. 

I need to keep an eye on you. Sorry.

What? He disappeared back into the bathroom, holding something he took from his dresser. When he returned, he was dressed in pajamas, placing his clothes neatly in the laundry hamper. He crawled into bed beside me, flicking off the lamp and curling away from me. Alright, bed it is.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changing the tense just a tad bit due to problems I ran into when writing this chapter

When I woke today, it was way easier to get out of my groggy state than it was last night. I roll over, flicking my eyes open to try and locate Kurloz, but he wasn’t in bed anymore. The door was slightly ajar, almost inviting me to go out. I didn’t have a mental map of his entire house, only a few rooms on the upper floor. It would be easy enough to find him, I thought. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, using my arms to balance myself on the wooden posts that held up the canopy. I walk slowly, limping because I don’t want to damage my leg any further (it also hurt, but I never admit when something does).

I silently thank that the railing on his grand stairs was thick and could support my weight, its functionality clearly as important as its decorative qualities. I had to move incredibly carefully, and even as I hobble down I am still in a little bit of pain. Kurloz came to check on the noises I was making, both in pain and in frustration as I took my sweet time getting down the stairs. I made it a few steps away from the main floor before Kurloz came to place his shoulder for me to brace on. It helped.

It was then that I noticed his sweet smell. Something that was a mixture of sugar and fruit, but it was also coming from the room he emerged from so I assume it was the kitchen. I could hear his breathing become more strained as he held up nearly my entire weight, but I didn’t quite have a choice. The hardwood parquet flooring was hard on my back and even harder on my leg. We must have been moving too slow, or he must have taken pity on me, because Kurloz scooped me right back up bridal style. I wrapped my arms around his neck for support.

I managed to utter a weak “thanks” that forced an exhausted breath out with each movement of my lips. He moved his hand to support my weak neck, much like you would a baby. This was both insulting and comforting. He set me down quite gently on a chair in front of the table. I looked around at the dishes which were stacked neatly in the sink, and the bowl full of some sort of batter by a pan on the stove. I saw other bowls, but didn’t know what they contained.

Kurloz towered over the stove in front of him, the top of it barely managing to compare to where his stomach met his ribs. I watched him closely as he spooned aforementioned batter into the pan, though he didn’t seem to mind. His movements were gentle and graceful, much different from the sharp and quick gestures he would make to the rival gangs. I’m not very smart, but I’ve always tried to figure people out. I could never figure out Kurloz and maybe that was why I liked him so much. 

I was still anxious, I still felt like a stranger in his house. After all, I had no idea why he ever cared about me, or pretended to. The whole thought of him pretending made me very scared, but also a little sad. I don’t like being sad, let alone sad and scared at the same time. When I get sad, I usually smoke, or find something to fidget with. I didn’t have either at the moment, I just had myself. And the clothes I was dressed in, the same ones I had first woken up in. They weren’t my own.

The sleeves on this t-shirt reached just passed my elbows. The too-long sweatpants were pushed up on my ankles, the elastic band hugging them snugly so they didn’t trail on the floor. I looked like a penny in a plastic bag. I clutched where the shirt overhung the waist of the pants, rolling the soft cotton in my fingers. Physical stimulation had always relaxed me. At school, I used a tennis ball that my teacher gives me. Some kids make fun of it, but it doesn’t really bug me because I’m usually focused on the ball and not them.

I was forced to snap back to attention as I heard a sharp clank on the table. In front of me was a plate. And on that plate was a stack of pancakes, topped with strawberries and whipped cream and icing sugar and syrup. Was I expected to eat this sugary mess? Because, like, that would be totally awesome. He sat down, his own plate in front of him. It was like mine, but the piles of toppings were quite a bit more modest. I glanced at him and a small smile crept on his face before he began to eat. 

I grabbed my own utensils, struggling to hold the fork in my right hand due to the bandages. I swear I could see him stifle his laughter as I fumbled to eat with my left hand. Four times out of five, the food on the fork would fall back onto the plate. Kurloz on the other hand, ate quite quickly. He must have been hungry. When he was done, he placed his utensils very neatly on his plate and came to sit beside me. He was still smiling a little bit. He took my fork from my hand and picked up the piece I had dropped. He cupped his hand under the fork, and held it close to my mouth.

Are you serious?

Cool.

I opened and moved my head forward, taking the piece. He gave me a thumbs up, I assume for doing what he wanted. I let him continue to feed me and when he was finished, I thanked him. He smiled, and began to wash the dishes. This guy was not what I expected at all. I felt really bad for making him do all the work, so I stood up quietly. He turned around though and waved me off, shaking his head. When I insisted, he only looked angry, so I stopped there. When he turned back around to finish washing, I moved right up behind him and wrapped my arms around his torso (I was too short to reach any higher).

He froze for a moment but he didn’t move and didn’t protest. I knew it was okay when he continued to wash the dishes with ease, even with me attached to his back. I stayed there for a long time with my face pressed against him, the only movement made when he inhaled and my head was rocked in and out. It wasn’t long before he was making a low rumbling, something that sounded awfully content.

After washing the dishes, he spun around carefully. If he hadn’t I would have been flung down to the floor. Ouch. He placed his hands on my shoulders and bent down so he could better look into my eyes, and he smiled again. He lifted me up and took me to the living room. He let me watch TV while he was flipping through papers. He seemed like a very important person. 

 

Kurloz let me stay the rest of the week. By the time Sunday came, I was well enough to take out the stitches on my hand. He did this for me carefully, and it didn’t hurt as much when he re-bandaged my hand. My leg was still going to prove to be a problem as it healed, but Kurloz managed to find me some crutches and a wheelchair for when it got really bad.

The whole week passed rather slowly, since I couldn’t do much except lay on the couch and watch TV. Kurloz had frequent visitors but I didn’t know any of them. Sometimes he went out for a very long time, but he always came back. Sometimes he didn’t come back until very late, but he would always make sure I got in bed fine. I got to have my own room.

Today was no different from any other day. I arched my back so I could tilt my head to look at Kurloz, whose head was gently bobbing to the music through his headphones. He fiddled on his laptop, probably writing another email. He turned to me and cocked his head; something I learned means ‘What?’ 

“How long can I stay?”

He opened a blank note pad and typed, changing the font size so I could read it. He tilted the laptop to me.

As long as you want to.

“Can I stay forever~” I joked, trying not to laugh. He cocked his head again.

Sure.

Hold the phone. Seriously? I thought about testing this in my head. “Okay,” I said, before Kurloz turned back to his screen, returned his headphones to his ears and started to type. I stood as best as I could and hobbled over him. He moved the laptop to the table and sat up a little, cocking his head once more and removing his headphones. I collapsed into him, nuzzling my head into his chest. 

“Thank you,” was all I could get out without crying because holy shit he was so kind and didn’t hate me like everyone else and I don’t have to go back home and –

In a low, deep, smooth voice he said: “You’re always welcome, brother.”


End file.
